


A Year In Kisses

by thelookyouredoingthelookagain



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cluedo, Confusion, Drunk John, Drunk Sherlock, Explicit Sexual Content, Gay Pride, John has a secret, Kissing, M/M, New Year's Eve, Sexting, Sherlock Has A Crush, Surprise Birthday Party, Valentine's Day, argument
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 15:29:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3073019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelookyouredoingthelookagain/pseuds/thelookyouredoingthelookagain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All those kisses must eventually mean something, mustn't they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. January

**Author's Note:**

> All works here were produced by two friends in the fandom. One writes as SH and one as John, and we edit together. Our characters are based on the BBC's _Sherlock_ , though we don't mind playing a little loosely with canon and the occasional AU. We have whims and like to follow them. While we like to torture our boys with constant misunderstandings, we know they belong together and we always see to that.
> 
> All posted works are complete, and we hope there will be something for everyone. Please take a look at our other works. Just a note, though, there's pretty much always going to be smut. Sometimes fluff, sometimes angst, but always smut. We can't help it: that's just the way we are.
> 
> We plan to add new work each weekend, so please subscribe.
> 
> We also really appreciate the kudos and comments --they mean so much.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Sherlock had just sat down but then he stood up again. He had been doing this all morning.

It didn't feel right without John here. It was different than when John was at work or even the rare occasions when John stayed the night with a date. This was different. Because it was too long without John.

He'd been gone ten days. The week between Christmas and New Year's Eve. John just had to spend it with his family. Families are stupid, Sherlock thought as he sat down again. Which was a rather childish thing to think, even though he did actually also kind of agree with it.

Regardless, Sherlock was ready for John to come back.

_Why aren't you home yet? SH_

John read the message and looked out of the window of the cab, watching the snow melting on the glass for a moment. The week with his family had been good, but he was certainly ready to be home again. He hoped the walls were in one piece, hoped that Sherlock hadn't found his gun where he'd hidden it.

_There's a lot of traffic. I will be there soon. -JW_

_At least I'm in the city. -JW_

Sherlock smiled a little but then made it go away, as if someone would see.

_Hurry. You are needed at the flat. SH_

_I'm sure I am but I can't make the cars move any faster. -JW_

_If you cared, you'd try. SH_

Sherlock got up and filled the kettle. He washed John's mug, which for some reason he'd been using while John was away, and then pulled his own from the cupboard.

_Don't give me that. You're the genius -- make a flying cab and I'll be there in no time. -JW_

They had actually started moving regularly now but he didn't tell Sherlock any of that.

_I've turned your room into a temporary morgue. I asked if it would bother you but since you weren't here and I didn't get an answer, I went ahead. You can sleep on the sofa until I'm finished with the corpse. SH  
_

_You can sleep with whatever body you have in my room and I'm taking your bed. -JW_

John hoped that he was kidding, but with Sherlock it really was a toss up. He imagined stealing Sherlock's bed and then the look on Mrs Hudson's face if she found out. Smiling, he paid the driver and headed upstairs slowly.

When Sherlock heard the door downstairs, he poured the tea. He felt strangely nervous all of a sudden -- probably just because he didn't really like change and even though he wanted John home and knew he'd quickly adjust to his presence again, it was just going to be another change. He carried the mugs into the sitting room.

John walked in and grinned at Sherlock, glancing at the tea and then him again. "How thoughtful," he said, taking the mug from him.

Sherlock moved towards John awkwardly; unfortunately, he hadn't quite planned what he was going to do when he got close. He started to move in to hug him and gave him a quick kiss on his cheek but in doing so, he bumped into John's mug so the tea spilled onto John's jumper. "Sorry," Sherlock said, stepping back. "Sorry," he repeated as he moved to the kitchen to get a towel.

John stood there blinking for a moment, touching his cheek where Sherlock had kissed it. Kissed! When he came back with the cloth to clean off his shirt, John lifted his head and kissed Sherlock's cheek in a less awkward way so that no one got spilled on. "It's good to be home," he said.

"Well, I hope you still think that after you find out what's happened," Sherlock said, giving him a wink. He went back into the kitchen and poured John another cup of tea. "But none of my messes needs immediately cleaning up so let's sit down first and you can tell me about your week and what made it so great that you had to cruelly leave me on my own for so long." He took a long drink of tea.

"I didn't cruelly leave you," John grinned. "Don't be so dramatic. Now, let me tell you about what happened with Harry," he said, taking another sip. John started talking and Sherlock listened, glad to hear John's voice back in the flat.


	2. February

John looked up at the door with a heavy feeling in his chest, dreading going up to the flat. His date had ditched him, which was annoying as she had done a lot of the asking to get John to go out with her. And before he left Sherlock had made an off-handed comment like he always did about the disaster that was sure to follow. For a moment John considered going to a pub instead and lying to Sherlock when he got back, but he knew that was useless. Then they both could add pathetic to the list of words to describe John Watson, and he really didn't want to deal with that. 

He let himself in and trudged up the stairs, hanging his jacket as soon as he got into the flat. Sherlock had his eyes closed on the sofa -- either sleeping or exploring his mind palace -- but John didn't stick around long enough to ask. He went straight to the stairs and up to his room, shutting the door behind him. 

Sherlock had opened then closed one eye when he heard the flat's door and then opened them both when he heard John's bedroom door. Hmmm, this was a strange occurrence -- John was home already and Sherlock hadn't even started texting him yet. He wasn't sure what to make of that. He realised he felt annoyance first: how dare John's date get ruined before Sherlock stepped in to ruin it. But that, he recognised, was probably not the most appropriate of reactions. So he slid from the sofa and got up to make tea. He carried two mugs up to John's door, knocked on it with his knee, and said, "Tea."  
  
John glanced over at the door and got out of bed, opening the door enough to peek out and take the mug. "Thank you," he said, moving to shut the door again. He wasn't really in the mood for any interactions.

Sherlock stared at the closed door. That wasn't really good enough. He sat down on the floor and took a sip of tea. "You feeling all right?" he asked. "Not poorly, are you?"

John paused halfway to the bed when he heard Sherlock speaking. "I'm not feeling poorly, no." He wasn't exactly feeling great, but he wasn't going to get into that with Sherlock.

"Good," Sherlock said. "That's good to hear. What do you fancy talking about, then?" 

"I was just going to lie down," John admitted, turning to look at the door. "It's been a long night."

Sherlock looked at his watch. That was clearly not true -- it was barely eight o'clock. "Okay, go ahead and lie down. I'll just keep talking. I can tell you about my day," he said.

"Just through the door?" John asked.

"Well, I won't be able to hear you if I go down to the sitting room and you haven't invited me in," Sherlock said matter-of-factly.

"Well . . . I can come down for a little bit," John said, opening the door. "Um . . . why are you sitting on the floor?"

"So we could talk," Sherlock said. "Because you said you wanted to lie down. Am I getting up then?"

John nodded. "I'll come down. You don't have to sit on the floor."

Sherlock tipped the rest of his tea into his mouth and then lifted his hand for John to help him up. They walked down to the sitting room and Sherlock flopped onto the sofa. He started talking a bit about his day, telling John about his successful finished experiment and his unsuccessful conversation with Mycroft. "We got an email via the blog," he said. "Do you want me to call her and see if she can come over tonight?" he asked. 

John shook his head. "Not tonight. Can't we meet her tomorrow?"

"Whatever," Sherlock said. He looked over at John. "Do you want to tell me?"

"Tell you what?" John asked, tilting his head a bit. He sipped at his tea slowly.

"Why your mood's so ghastly?" Sherlock said, looking down at his shoe. He knew that sometimes John found it hard to be looked at so he memorised every detail on his own right shoe.

John shook his head. "I know you're a bit self absorbed, but I know you know I was on on a date. Or attempting to be." He stood and put his mug in the sink. "I'm going to bed, okay?"

"Would you mind sitting down for two more minutes, please?" Sherlock asked. As he waited for John to do so, he uncrossed and recrossed his legs. "Obviously I knew you had a date but when your dates are unsuccessful, your moods are usually unpleasant. But tonight your mood is ghastly. Do you want to tell me what explains the difference?" He looked down at his left shoe. "You don't have to, of course," he said quietly.

John sighed and looked down as well. Having to say it out loud made him feel as pathetic as he was sure he looked. "It's the day," he said quietly. "It's stupid, I know."

Sherlock's stomach felt funny -- was it John's birthday? No, Mrs Hudson would have reminded Sherlock of that. What was so important about today? "Well, I mean . . . it's just a day, isn't it?" he said, hoping he could bluff his way through it.

"It's a holiday. A fake holiday, sort of, but it was nice to have plans," he said, shrugging now. "I'm sorry I took it out on you. It's not your fault."

"What holiday?"

John looked over with mild surprise before shaking his head. Of course Sherlock wouldn't know this. "It's Valentine's Day," he said. 

"I see," Sherlock said. "So . . . she didn't want to be your valentine?"

"Well, she didn't show up so I am going to say that's a hard no," John said. "I don't really want to talk about it, okay?" 

"Okay," Sherlock said. "Thank you for helping me understand your mood." He stood up. "You can go up to your room now if you want." He disappeared into his bedroom.

John watched him leave and felt worse than when he came down -- not only because of his own bad mood but that he'd let it affect Sherlock as well. He sighed and made a mental note to do something nice for him tomorrow. He shut off the lights and went back up to his room. 

About ten minutes later, Sherlock was knocking on John's bedroom door.

John turned to face the door and propped himself on his elbow. "Yes, Sherlock?"

"One more thing, please," Sherlock said.

John waited for a second for Sherlock to come in, but then he got up and went to pull the door open. "What's up?" 

"Here," he said. "Happy Valentine's Day." He leaned in and gave John an awkward kiss on the top of his head and then moved quickly back to his bedroom.

John stared down at the paper for a long time -- long enough that he actually got tired of standing and was pulled from his head with a need to sit down. He moved to his bed. A love heart shaped paper, slightly haphazardly cut. _Happy Valentine's Day. Love Sherlock._ John found his phone and opened the text to Sherlock, not knowing what to say. 

_Thank you, Sherlock. -JW_

_You're welcome, Valentine. SH_


	3. March

Mrs Hudson had had enough.

She stomped up the stairs and threw open the flat door without knocking. "Sherlock, sit!" she said pointing to his chair. He did immediately. "John, you too," she said. She moved to stand in the space between them.

"I don't care what's going on, this fighting needs to stop. It's been a week. Please. . . Sherlock?" she said.

"Mrs Hudson, I'm afraid your attempt at diplomacy will fall on deaf ears here," Sherlock explained. He pointed at John. "This man, the one we all knew as loveable Doctor John Watson, is actually as bad as Robert Mugabe."

Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes. "Sherlock . . ."  
  
"In the last two weeks, he has appointed himself dictator of this flat. He controls when I eat and sleep, what I do on the computer, where I leave my valuable work . . . he's gone insane with power and I'm fed up and cannot -- no, will not -- take it anymore."  
  
"All I did was make sure that you're eating so you don't die!" John countered. "And yes, I am going to say where you put your gross experiments when I come home to find a bloody arm in my bed!" The tensions between them had been high already and when John came home to find his space invaded, everything had been pushed right over the edge. 

"John," Mrs Hudson said, turning to face him.

"Don't say 'John' like he's the reasonable one," Sherlock shouted. "He's the one who's in the wrong!"

John looked at Mrs Hudson and ignored Sherlock as if he were a child. "I think I have put up with enough to not have to come home to human body parts in my bed!" He shouted the last few words at Sherlock. 

"He says arm but it was from the elbow down and it wasn't in your bed, just bedroom," Sherlock yelled back. "Do you see? Do you see how unreasonable your 'reasonable' John Watson is?" he asked Mrs Hudson.

"Sherlock, really," Mrs Hudson said. She turned back to John. "You know what he is like -- can't you be a litle more patient?"

"I am patient! I'm always the patient one and I'm . . . it's not fair!" John shouted. Immediately he knew how ridiculous that sounded but he didn't care. It wasn't his fault there wasn't a case since last month. Why was he always the one bending for Sherlock's wild whims? "I'm not doing it this time. He has no respect for me at all."

"All right, fine," Mrs Hudson said, putting her hands on her hips. "If you're both going to act like children, I'll treat you like children. We'll do what I used to do when my nieces and nephews used to fight."  
  
"This'll be good," Sherlock interrupted.

"Shush," she said. "Both of you -- on the sofa." Sherlock got up immediately and moved but John didn't.

John hesitated and only moved when she threw him a stern look. He sat down with plenty of room between them.

"Sherlock, say one nice thing about John," Mrs Hudson said.  
  
Sherlock made an unhappy face but said, "He has excellent taste in jumpers."  
  
"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson said. "Say something you mean!"

Sherlock made an unhappier face but said, "He's a good cook."

"John," Mrs Hudson said. "Your turn."  
  
"About me," Sherlock said before John could speak. "Not about yourself."

John rolled his eyes and took a deep breath. He looked over at Sherlock. "He's very smart," he said. Was that cheating? He didn't care. It was true and he wanted this to be over.

"The smartest man you know, you mean," Sherlock said.

"Sherlock," Mrs Hudson scolded. "I can see the two of you need firmer treatment." She moved over and took one of each of their hands. She pushed them together. "Hold hands," she instructed.

"What? No way," John said, trying to pry his hand from Sherlock's. "We're not children!"

Mrs Hudson moved their hands back. "John Watson," she said. "All right, kiss."

Sherlock turned and leaned towards John.

"This is crazy! How will this help?" John asked, feeling his cheeks warming. He looked at Sherlock again who was leaning in. Why was he obeying her? But despite the fact that this was ridiculous for grown men, John refused to be seen as less reasonable than Sherlock. He leaned in and kissed Sherlock's cheek as quickly as he could before sitting straight again and pulling his hand away.

"There," Mrs Hudson said. "Better?"  
  
"Yes," Sherlock said. "Sorry, John."

"Sorry," John added quietly.

"Sherlock, go clean up your mess," Mrs Hudson said. Sherlock got up and moved to John's room.

"John," Mrs Hudson said. "I know it doesn't seem fair, but you know him. You see how it works now. Remember this the next time. No more fighting."

"But . . ." John took a deep breath and sighed. "He could try as well," he grumbled.

"Yes, he could, but . . ." she said.

John looked over at her and gave a resigned nod. "I know. . . I'll try harder."

"Good," Mrs Hudson said. "Because I don't like treating you like children." She moved towards John and gave him a kiss on the head. "Well, I do a little but I don't like the fighting. Call me up if you need me to interfere again." She smiled and headed downstairs.


	4. April

_There's been an accident. Are you at the flat? MH_

_Yes. What's happened? -JW_

_Please meet us at the door. MH_

John put his phone into his pocket and headed down the steps quickly. He pulled open the door and saw Sherlock leaning against the door frame and Mycroft looking annoyed. "What happened?" he asked again. 

"My brother is an idiot," Mycroft said. "He refused a regular doctor so he needs you to ensure nothing is broken. I've brought him home, my responsibility is over. He's all yours now, John." He turned and got back in the car, which immediately took off.

"I'm fine," Sherlock said, but didn't make a move to go in.

John looked at Sherlock again, and his eyes moved down his body. He wasn't putting any weight on his left foot but he had it hovering over the ground as if he was trying to make it look like he was standing on it. "Let's get you upstairs," he said, moving to the side and looping an arm around his waist to help him in. 

"I'm fine," Sherlock repeated but he leaned onto John, letting him help him. "If Mycroft had just got me in the information I needed, this never would have happened." He struggled on the stairs. He hated feeling dependent.

John took the stairs slowly with Sherlock, continuing to remind him to put his weight on John instead of trying his foot. "If you don't cooperate I'm going to pick you up," he warned. "What happened anyway?" 

"Essentially there was some kind of fault in the building's construction. I'm thinking of taking them to court actually," Sherlock said. "And if that's the kind of bedside manner you usually give your patients, I can see why so many of them die." He hobbled through the door and collapsed on the sofa. He slowly lifted his feet up to the table, trying but failing to appear as if nothing were really wrong.

John lowered Sherlock's right foot and sat on the table, He gently took off Sherlock's shoe and then his sock, lifting his pant leg. His ankle was swollen but not severely. There was some bruising but it still looked straight. "Does this hurt as much as stepping on it does?" he asked, moving it slowly upwards. 

"It doesn't hurt," Sherlock said. Even though it clearly hurt. "I'm fine." He watched John looking at his foot. "It's not broken, is it?"

John shook his head. "No, it's not broken but it is sprained. I am going to put some ice on it for the swelling and you'll have to stay off of it for a couple days." John got up and put some ice into a big Ziploc bag, coming over to Sherlock again. "Do you want to stay here for a bit or go to your room?"

"You love this, don't you?" Sherlock asked fiddling with the bag on his ankle.

"You caught me. My greatest dream was that you would be incapacitated and left to my complete care," John said sarcastically. Then he smiled softly and sat down with him, turning the news on.  

"I knew it," Sherlock said. "It's pathetic really. However, I'll let you enjoy yourself." He looked over at John. "I'm not comfortable, you know. Shouldn't you be doing something about that?"

"What would make you more comfortable, Sherlock?" John asked, looking over at him again. 

"Tea," Sherlock said.

John pushed himself off of the sofa and went into the kitchen to start the kettle, leaning on the counter and glancing out at Sherlock who was playing with the ice bag again. There was always something childlike about him when he acted this way: when he was pouting, feeling poorly, or hurt. John smiled softly and went back to the tea. When he brought it out he handed the mug to Sherlock and put a pillow in his lap. "So you don't have to stretch," he added. 

Sherlock waited until John sat down and then said, "A blanket might be good."

"Just because your foot is hurt doesn't mean your mouth doesn't work. Why didn't you ask when I was up?" John asked. Whatever was making John feel sweet on him before disappeared now. Which seemed normal for them -- the constant roller coaster. He slowly got up and got one.

"Thank you," Sherlock said, wrapping it around himself. "Anyway, did you have a good day today or what?"

"Yes I did. I didn't work and I watched a couple movies and it was very relaxing."

"Are you working tomorrow? How long am I going to be incapacitated like this? Should you take off the next two weeks?" Sherlock asked.

"Only a couple of days, Sherlock. I will make sure the essentials are within reach while I'm at work. You'll be okay to get to the bathroom and all," he said. 

"You're cruel," Sherlock said. "I did this for you, you know."

"Did what for me? Sprained your ankle?"

"Well, not directly obviously -- I was trying to find us a case. I know how you get when we don't have a case. I was just trying to keep you interested."

"Oh right," John said, rolling his eyes. "You know, it wouldn't actually kill you to listen to your brother for once."

"John Watson, you take that back right now!" Sherlock shouted.

"I will not," John said, standing to take Sherlock's mug to the sink. "Now. I am going to bed. Are you staying here or going to your room?" 

"You're the doctor, you tell me," Sherlock said. He really didn't want John to leave. He was still a bit wired from everything that had happened, and his ankle was hurting.

"Medically I just need your leg elevated and iced. You can do that wherever you want," John said. 

"I'll sleep here, I guess," Sherlock said. "Can you help me lie flat, please?" he asked, trying to wiggle himself around a bit.

John nodded, helping Sherlock shift without hurting his ankle. He put the ice back on and arranged the pillows and blanket. "You're sure?" 

"Yes, I'm fine. Stop babying me," Sherlock said. "And don't feel bad if I'm dead when you wake up. You obviously did all you could to help me." He closed his eyes, but they both knew he was pouting.

John sighed softly and shut the light. "Don't try and get up alone. Call if you need me," he murmured. He leaned down and kissed the top of Sherlock's head before heading up to bed. 

"Thank you, John," Sherlock whispered. When he heard John's door shut, he added, "For taking care of me."


	5. May

Where the hell was John? Sherlock thought. He'd been texting him for what seemed like hours -- it'd actually only been twenty minutes -- but it seemed so much longer. He was stuck in a meeting with Mycroft and Mycroft's people . . . he didn't know or care who they were. He just needed to get out of this room.

But unfortunately, it was one of those rare occasions when Sherlock was completely helpless. Most of the time Mycroft bossed Sherlock, they both knew that it was in his best interest, so although Sherlock pouted, he usually went along with it. However, sometimes -- like today -- Mycroft needed Sherlock for his own purposes and Sherlock hated it, hated that he was trapped. He reached for his phone, noticing Mycroft frowning at him.

_I'm practically dead, John. Where are you? SH_

_He threatened me, to be honest with you. I need you to be aware of that. But I'm working on it. -JW_

John looked up at Mycroft's office -- well, one of those high windows had to be his office anyway -- and he was trying to think about what would be the best way to get Sherlock out of this meeting while minimising any backlash from Mycroft. It was impossible, he knew. Mycroft had contacted John days before this meeting, knowing that Sherlock was going to be trying something to get out of it and notifying John that he should not play into Sherlock's pouting. Easier said than done. 

"Excuse my brother, gentlemen," Mycroft said. "Do you mind putting that away?"  
  
"I'm expecting an important call," Sherlock said. "From headquarters."  
  
The men around the table looked puzzled, which pleased Sherlock. He went back to his phone.

_Help me. SH_

_Patience. -JW_

John took a deep breath and got into character a bit, running into the building and for the stairs. 

"Sir! You can't go up there!" a woman shouted.

John ignored her and kept moving. He maintained his sense of panic and distress as he burst into the office. 

"Sorry -- Sherlock, it's Mrs. Hudson," John panted. 

"Oh my god," Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. "John, get out of here."  
  
Sherlock was already standing up and putting on his coat. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," he said. "We've a very sick friend -- well, she's not a friend, she's my friend's mother." He motioned to John. Well, that was stupid -- what kind of son calls his mother 'Mrs Hudson'? "It's an emergency, I'm afraid."  
  
One of the men started to speak.

"Sit down, Sherlock," Mycroft scolded. He turned to look at John. "Get out of here," he repeated.

"Mr Holmes, we can always reschedule . . ." one of the men said to Mycroft.

"Thank you," Sherlock said before Mycroft could respond. "But you carry on without me -- I'm sure my brother can handle this." He moved over towards John and grabbed his arm, pulling him out of the office. As soon as the door was shut, he grabbed John's arm and put a kiss on his forehead. "You're a lifesaver, John," he said smiling. He started walking away. "Though it did take you forever to get here."

John rolled his eyes and muttered a 'you're welcome' as he hurried along, glancing behind him for Mycroft and the wrath that was sure to come along with him.


	6. June

"I don't know why you have to be such a baby about it," Sherlock said as they walked. They'd been having lunch when Sherlock got into an argument with the server and John had rushed them out before he'd been able to prove his point. "You'd think as my friend, you'd want to defend me, not shut me up."

"His job is hard enough without you harassing him about nonsense," John said, throwing him a warning look. "Just drop it now."

"Whatever," Sherlock said. They walked on for a little while. Sherlock noticed a crowd of people up the street a bit. "I wonder what's going on? Maybe it's a crime," he said, a little too excitedly.

"Looks like some kind of protest -- I see people with signs," John said. "We could cross over and avoid it all."

"I was hoping someone had died," Sherlock said and then remembered John had told him that was the kind of thing that was better off kept inside his head. They wandered up to the crowd. "It's a gay thing," Sherlock said, pointing out one of the signs being carried.

John nodded and looked around. "I used to come to these things with Harry," he admitted.

"Well, ask around and see what's going on. It may just be a be-gay-on-the-pavement thing, but if something's happened, we might be able to help," Sherlock said. He scanned the crowd for a moment and then flashed back through his memories of the newspaper the last few days, trying to find any articles about homophobic incidents.

John started asking people around them about what was going on. Apparently the owner of the restaurant had kicked out a gay couple who had been kissing so now a bunch of couples had gathered to kiss outside as a protest. He found Sherlock and explained what was going on. "Come on . . . let's let them do their thing," he said, starting to walk away. 

"Hey! Give us one for the camera -- we're going to be on the news!" someone shouted.

John took a step back towards Sherlock again and shook his head. "We're not . . . we're just passing through," he said.  

Sherlock grabbed John, wrapping his arms around him and kissing him dramatically -- almost pushing him over into an enthusiastic dip. He smiled at the camera and then grabbed John's hand and they started walking on.

"What the --" John started, already being pulled away from the crowd. He could hear the man with the camera cheering before asking others to do the same. "What was that about?" 

"Just trying to be supportive," Sherlock said, glancing over at John. "Don't be such a homophobe," he added

"I'm not -- that's not what I am being," John grumbled. 

"I'm teasing you," Sherlock said. "God, you're uptight about being homosexual and you're uptight about being homophobic. You need to relax a little." He smiled over at him so he knew he was just teasing. When they got back to the flat, Sherlock knocked on Mrs Hudson's door. When she came out, he said, "Come up to ours at six. John and I are going to be on the news." Then he headed upstairs to the flat.

John flushed and, in the excitement of it all, had forgotten about them being on the news. The rumours were going to really fly now but John had given up arguing them a long time ago. "You're too excited about this," John said as he stepped into the flat and took off his coat.

"Not really," Sherlock said. "I'm viewing it more as an elaborate way of teasing you." He poured two cups of tea and brought them over to the sofa where John was sitting. Sherlock sat down next to him and reached for the remote. He flipped through the channels mindlessly.

John looked over at him and wondered what was going on in his head right now. "It doesn't bother me so you can say whatever you want," he said, taking a drink.

Mrs Hudson came up. "So what's going on -- you've not got involved in something bad, have you?" 

"Of course not," Sherlock said. "We got involved in something very . . . good, didn't we, John?"

"Yes. We took a stand against homophobia today," John said, keeping his eyes on the telly. The news had started. 

Sherlock watched John and Mrs Hudson watching the television. Then he saw the two of them on the street and Sherlock kissing John. He smiled.

"Sherlock!" Mrs Hudson said. "Oh, that's quite sweet. You two . . ."

"We two what?" Sherlock said.

"Well, you know . . ." she said. "It's sweet."

"John?" Sherlock said. "Your evaluation, please? Are we . . . sweet?"

John was still looking at the television. It was odd watching the kiss from this side of things and it made him feel warm. It seemed normal -- like they did it all the time. "Yeah, I think we are," he said, glancing at Sherlock quickly before looking over at Mrs Hudson.

"Good," Sherlock said. "I'm glad you think so."


	7. July

"Be quiet," Sherlock hissed. "Don't bother hiding. There is no way he doesn't know we're doing this." He looked over at Mrs Hudson and then Molly. "One of you has given it away, haven't you?"

Mrs Hudson and Molly looked at each other and then at Sherlock.

"Well, just be normal. He'll be home any minute and this should just be nice, not . . . silly." He sat down in his chair and then stood up and moved to the kitchen. He hadn't been sure this was a good idea, but for some reason, he thought John would really like a birthday party and doing things John would like had become more important to him as of late. Then he heard the door downstairs.

"Be quiet -- hide! No, don't hide, just . . . he's home," Sherlock said. And then he panicked and went into his bedroom and shut the door.

John leaned against the door for a moment to just take breath. It had been a very long day, and he was so glad to be home. He climbed up the steps slowly, seeing the lights were out in the flat. He pushed the door open properly and walked in. "Hello?"

"Surprise!" Molly and Mrs Hudson yelled, jumping out from behind the curtains. Greg, who had been sitting on the sofa, stood up and said, "Happy Birthday, John," before sitting back down again.

John was puzzled. "But it's not my birthday," he said, looking around for Sherlock.

"We know," Mrs Hudson said quietly, stepping over and touching John's shoulder. "But he . . . got it in his head it was and wanted to do this."

"Where is he?" John asked.

Mrs Hudson nodded towards Sherlock's room.

John turned to look over at Sherlock's room. He smiled softly and made his way over, knocking on the door. "Aren't you supposed to jump out as well?" he asked. 

Sherlock didn't turn around to look at him. He was sitting in a chair staring out the window. "I'm sorry, John," he said. "Surprise parties are stupid . . . Mrs Hudson thought it was a good idea. I tried to talk her out of it but you know how she gets . . ."

John smiled and walked into the room, moving to stand behind him. "Can I tell you a secret?"

"Yeah," Sherlock said.

John took a big, dramatic breath. "Today is not my birthday," he smiled. 

Sherlock put his hands to his face for a moment. Through his fingers he said, "But if it's not your birthday, why did I invite all those people round?" He swallowed awkwardly. "I was sure . . ." he trailed off as he thought about what had actually made him think it was John's birthday. There must have been something, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember it. He felt stupid and embarrassed and realised the others must know he'd been wrong.

John leaned down and kissed the top of Sherlock's head. "I never need a proper reason for presents and cake," he smiled. "Come with me," he said. 

Sherlock closed his eyes at John's touch. When John stood back up, Sherlock said, "I'm embarrassed. I don't want to go out there."

"Don't be," John assured him. "Those are our friends, they don't care. Come play happy birthday for me." 

Sherlock let John leave, but five minutes later, he was playing his violin and everyone sang along.


	8. August

Sherlock had been feeling a bit . . . different towards John these days. He wasn't quite sure what it was, but it was niggling him.

At first he thought it was just an increase in his usual mild annoyance. Sherlock knew he was not the most patient of people, and ever since he'd met, John had often borne the brunt of that. If John wasn't as quick as Sherlock at crime scenes, which he usually wasn't, Sherlock's voice would take a tone that he would late regret. But it was different than just mild annoyance.

Sherlock then considered if it was just out-and-out anger and for a little while, he was pretty sure that's what it was. When John went out with dates, Sherlock realised he felt angry -- at the woman and then also at John. But then when John would come home looking disappointed, Sherlock then felt sad. And even -- though he didn't want to admit it -- guilty.

All of these feelings were very confusing to Sherlock. And feeling confused was a feeling Sherlock especially didn't like.

He lay in bed trying to figure out precisely what was going on with him and John. He thought that it might have to do with jealousy. He decided to test it.

He got up, showered, and got dressed before coming out into the sitting room, where John was, drinking tea and looking at his laptop.

"John," Sherlock said. "I need your advice on something."

John glanced up at Sherlock before going back to his typing. "What's up?" he asked, double checking the notes he had next to him. 

"Well, I was thinking of asking someone out on a date, but I'm a bit rusty on all that business, so I was wondering if I could get your advice," Sherlock said.

John looked up properly now and tilted his head. "You . . .who are you asking out?"

"Well, I'd rather keep that information to myself until I decide precisely what to do," Sherlock said. "Seeing as how you've got such a vast amount of experience, have you got any advice for me?"

"Well," John said quietly. "Maybe I'm not the best choice since my dates never work out." For some reason this bothered him and he didn't want to talk about it. 

"Well," Sherlock said. "Let's be realistic -- I'm not really 'date material' am I? I probably shouldn't have worded it like that. Can you imagine me on a date?" He sat down in his chair across from John. "But maybe I could get some advice on . . . you know." He looked over at John. 

John waited for the rest. "On what? 

"Well, on kissing. I need some help on kissing," Sherlock said. "I've not kissed anyone since I was quite young and I'm thinking my technique might be out of date."

"Oh." John shut his computer and put it on the ground by his chair. "You kissed me at the protest last month and you were just fine."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that . . . thanks," Sherlock said. "Well, excluding that, it's been forever. Have you got any suggestions?"

"Well . . .it depends on your partner, I suppose. You have the basics . . ." 

"I'm not interested in the basics, John," Sherlock said. "Will you show me how to do it better than basic?" He looked up. "I know it's . . . a bit odd, but I've got no one else to ask for help."

John looked at Sherlock for a moment and really studied his face. His eyes settled on his lips. He imagined kissing him properly, and he felt his cheeks warm slightly. "Okay. Sure," he said quietly. 

"Thanks, John," Sherlock said. He got up and moved next to him on the sofa. "Okay, what do I do first?"

"Don't think about it. You just . . .do it. Feel it," John said. He licked his lips lightly and moved towards him. "I'm going to let you lead," he murmured before pressing his lips to Sherlock's. 

Sherlock didn't need kissing lessons. Sherlock wanted to kiss John -- to know if this was what was making him feel differently recently, if what he'd been feeling was jealousy and if this was why he was jealous. He leaned and kissed John's mouth softly. He leaned back and said, "Well?"

"That was good," John said quietly. "But basic. You said you didn't need that. You can . . .you can take more. I mean do more."

Hmmm. . . Sherlock thought. Interesting. "Show me then," he said. "Give me an idea at least."

John kissed him again, pressed against his lips as he parted them a bit. He flicked his tongue out and encouraged Sherlock to continue. 

Sherlock's tongue slipped to find John's and he lifted a hand to the back of John's head, tipping it slightly to deepen the kiss.

Yes, now Sherlock knew. He liked kissing John Watson and he wanted John Watson to want to kiss him and only him. He pulled back from the kiss and looked over as innocently as he could muster. "Was that all right then? Would that work at the end of the date or whatever?" he asked.

John opened his mouth and closed his mouth again. "Yeah," he said awkwardly. "That would work for the end of a date." He shifted and moved to get up. 

"Well, thanks, then," Sherlock said. "I'll file that information away for future use." He stood up and stretched. "I think I might head out," he added. "I need to speak to go speak to Molly." He moved to the door and got his coat.

"Is that who you're asking?" John asked, looking over at him. He realised he had hoped Sherlock would have wanted to do it again. 

"Asking what?" Sherlock said, putting his scarf around his neck.

"For a date," John said. 

"I told you I didn't really do dates," Sherlock said. "You really should listen more closely, John." He turned and walked out the door.


	9. September

Sherlock hadn't let his newly discovered feelings for John change things. Well, not really. If anything he found himself a little less annoyed or angered. The confusion was what had been eating away at him. And now he was no longer confused. So he had a crush on his flatmate . . . this wasn't the most unusual event in the world. For Sherlock, having a flatmate and then friend -- _that_ was the unusual bit.

So Sherlock behaved pretty much as he always did, even when John went out on dates, which he still did from time to time. Sometimes Sherlock called him home, sometimes he didn't. Sometimes he got cross at John, sometimes they had a great time together. They solved two cases quickly and efficiently, just like they always had. There was no need for Sherlock to act on his feelings: John liked women and Sherlock was not a woman.

Sherlock had been sleeping in just recently -- it was quite hot and sticky and they had no case on and he was bored. So he'd been catching up on reading and experiments late into the night when it was cooler and staying in bed until midday. He'd vaguely heard John go off to work and then had fallen back to sleep until his phone rang.

He rolled over to answer.

"Sherlock Holmes? There's a delivery for you. Could you come down to the door to pick it up?"

Sherlock sat up. Strange. He hadn't heard knocking and where was Mrs Hudson that she couldn't go answer the door? He hung up his phone, slipped on his dressing gown and headed downstairs. The man at the door complained that he'd been knocking for fifteen minutes (a complaint Sherlock refused to believe even though he didn't doubt it was true) then handed Sherlock a box. Sherlock signed his name on the form and carried the box upstairs. He set it on the table and took out his phone.

_A package has arrived. SH_

John had been through an emotional roller coaster since the kiss he's shared with Sherlock. And even though they had shared quite a few kisses, he really only counted the last one -- the one that made him realise that he wanted more than the small teasing pecks Sherlock had been giving him just recently. He doubted Sherlock felt the same as John, only because he didn't really do that sort of thing. But John wasn't going to say anything and mess everything up between them. After a few weeks of worry, he was comfortable and happy with the way things were now and if this was all it was going to be, he'd decided that was all right. When his phone buzzed and he read the text he smiled wide. Thanks to the blog's popularity -- well, really Sherlock's popularity -- a local shop had made a Cluedo game based around him. Sherlock's face was on the box and everything. It had made John laugh and since Sherlock always liked playing that game (according to Mycroft anyway), John had thought it would be a funny gift.

_It's for you. You can open it if you like. -JW_

_Is it going to explode? Should I put on protective eyewear? SH_

_No, I ordered it -- not you. It's safe, I promise. -JW_

Sherlock opened the box. He was a little startled to see his own face on the box. He turned it over -- he couldn't believe it. He used to play this all the time when he was little and now here he had his own version. He couldn't imagine where John had found this. He smiled broadly. This didn't really help with Sherlock's crush, but he would try not to let it get any worse.

_You are certifiably insane, John Watson. Come home now. I need someone to play with. SH_

_You know I can't leave yet, but I switched for another shift so I only have two more hours. -JW_

John wished he could have been there to see Sherlock's face when he opened it, but he hoped he could get a sense of it when he got home. He wished he could leave now _  
_

_Just hurry. It's not as much fun to figure it out without someone watching. SH_

_You're not allowed to say the victim did it. I've been warned about you. -JW_

Sherlock smiled and dropped his phone onto the table. He sat down in his chair and inspected the game closely. It really was quite amazing. John really was quite amazing. He set everything up on the table and then went to shower and get himself dressed. He had the kettle boiling at just about the time John was due to come home.

John finished up his patients and set the paperwork aside for tomorrow. He might regret getting up earlier to come in, but he was eager to get home. He took a cab so it would be faster, hurrying up to the flat. "Hello?"

Sherlock came out and handed John a mug of tea. "Let's play," he said immediately, moving over and sitting on the floor instead of the sofa.

John followed him into the sitting room and dropped down onto the floor with him. "I've never played, to be honest," he admitted.

"It's quite easy," Sherlock said. "I'm sure even you will catch on quickly." He explained everything and then said, "I'm not sure this picture's that flattering." He held up the box's lid. "Is this really what I look like?"

"Yes. I'm glad they used the hat one," John grinned.

"I thought I was more handsome than that," Sherlock said. They continuing playing and Sherlock won. "Let's play again," Sherlock said. "You can choose the victim -- I won't peek." He put his hands over his eyes. There was a small part of Sherlock's brain that registered that this was completely immature behaviour. He was acting like a child, and he wasn't sure why. But he decided he didn't care. He was having fun. "Is it safe to look?"

"Yes, I have it all set up," John said, keeping everything properly hidden. He'd waved his hand into front of Sherlock for a response, knowing he could be faking anyway but it was fun to pretend.

"If I win this one, you take me out to dinner tonight," Sherlock said, taking his turn.

"Okay," John said after his turn. "And if I win?"

"You won't, but we'll do best of three," Sherlock said. He smiled over at John who smiled back. Sherlock's stomach went a little funny so he focused on the game.

"But if I do win I want something good," John grinned.

"Well, we'll see. You've got beat me first," Sherlock said. He watched John take his turn. Then he had an idea. He let John win. "Pure luck," he said. "Shall we play a tiebreaker?"

John grinned and nodded. "That's for not believing I could win," he said. 

"Well, this is the one that matters now," Sherlock said. "Whoever loses takes the other one out." He smiled at John.

"Okay," John agreed, taking his turn.

Sherlock thought long and hard about what to do. He let John win. "Is that why you've bought this?" he asked. "You just wanted to humiliate me?"

John laughed in triumph. Despite his suspicions that it was fixed, he gloated. "Where are you taking me?"

"I'm not telling," Sherlock said, packing up the game. "Go make yourself pretty." He went into the bathroom and fiddled with his hair. Then he brushed his teeth and came back out to wait for John.

John wrinkled his nose at the word 'pretty' but he got up and went to get ready anyway. He changed his clothes and fussed his hair a bit before coming back down.

Sherlock led John out onto the street. "We can walk, yeah? It's not far," he said. As they made their way, Sherlock looked over and said, "Thanks for the game, John. It was really . . . thoughtful."

"Yeah. I saw it and thought of you. Obviously," he smiled.

They were moving away from the busy streets into what looked like an empty carpark. At the far end was a burger van. Sherlock walked up and said, "Two specials, please" and handed the guy some money. He led John over to a small bench near the van. 

"How fancy," John teased, digging into his burger.

"Just trust me," Sherlock said. "These are the best chips you've ever eaten." He took a few from his container and then took a bite of the burger.

"It is really good. I like it," he said. "How'd you find it?"

"I have my ways," Sherlock said. "I can't reveal all my secrets . . . you'll use them against me the next time we play Cluedo."

"The game isn't about our life, goof." John finished up and threw the carton away, sitting back at the bench with a satisfied sigh.

They walked back home. When they got to the flat door, Sherlock put the key in but didn't open it. He turned to John. "This was a little bit like a date, don't you think?"

John looked over at him and flushed lightly. His stomach was doing somersaults. "Yeah, I suppose it was," he agreed quietly.

"I think I'll try my goodnight kiss on you," Sherlock said, lifting a hand to John's cheek and leaning in to give him a kiss. "If it was terrible, you've got no one to blame but yourself." He smiled and opened the door and walked upstairs.

John swallowed hard and followed him in, wondering how long he could keep up acting casually before it became too obvious. "You know, technically we have two doors," he teased.

"Don't get greedy," Sherlock said, smiling. He put the kettle on, making them each a cup of tea. He brought them into the sitting room. "Well, today was pretty good. Thanks for keeping me from being bored. What will you do tomorrow to keep me busy?"

John felt his stomach drop as Sherlock saw right through him. But a small part of him realised Sherlock didn't get mad or weird about it. "I don't know. I'm sure we'll figure it out. I think I'm going to lie down, actually." He dumped his tea and headed up.

"All right, John," Sherlock said, standing up as well. "Good night and thank you.” He smiled genuinely as he watched John go upstairs and then moved into his own room.


	10. October

_You said I shouldn't pester you. I haven't. But a week is too long, John. Come home. SH_

_It’s only one more night. I have to help my mum move some things from his house tomorrow and I'll be on my way. -JW_

_Mrs Hudson misses you. SH_

John smiled and shifted to get more comfortable. His childhood bed felt so small now. 

_Hmm. I'll have to pay her a visit before I come home then. -JW_

_Very funny. Don't be mean while I'm here alone. I think someone's broken in and I'm hiding in my room because I've got no back up. SH_

_You're being mean -- trying to make me feel guilty while I'm helping my grieving mother. -JW_

_If you're feeling guilty, don't blame me. SH_

_I'll just go to bed then and stop texting you. -JW_

_I'll be nice. SH_

_Did you have a case while I've been away? -JW  
_

_No. Just been working on experiments. You'll like what I've left for you in the fridge. SH_

_Will I really like it or are you talking nonsense? -JW_

_Nonsense. I've gone mad since you've been gone. SH_

_I miss you too, you know. -JW_

_Why? SH_

_What do you mean 'why'? -JW_

_Why do you miss me? SH_

_Why do you miss me? -JW_

_Because I've grown accustomed to seeing you and when I can't, I don't like it. SH_

_Me too. I like seeing you all the time. -JW_

Sherlock smiled. He lay back on his pillow and thought about John -- about being sweet on him. He still was, he couldn't help it. He wondered how long it might last.

_I look forward to seeing you home with me tomorrow. SH_

_Me too. Please don't have body parts laying around. -JW_

_We'll see. SH  
_

_Except your own. On your body, I mean. -JW_

John flushed and covered his face. How was it possible to stammer stupidly over texts?

Sherlock smiled again.

_I've just fully examined myself and can assure you that my body will be fully in tact when you arrive. SH_

_Okay good. Mine too. -JW_

Sherlock read the text and then reached over to turn off the lamp in his room.

_Have you just been examining yourself as well then? SH_

_Yes, to make sure I'm all whole. -JW_

_And you're entirely sure you are? SH_

_I'm pretty sure. -JW_

Sherlock pulled the duvet up close to his face as if he were hiding. He took a deep breath.

_Would you like a second opinion? SH_

John bit his lip and read the words three times.

_Yes, that's always best. -JW_

_I'll need more information. Are you alone? SH_

_I am. -JW_

_Get undressed. SH_

John stared at the message. He knew he could lie. It would be easy to lie -- to do nothing -- but he didn't. He slipped out of his pants and dropped them on the ground.

_Okay. I am. -JW_

_Can you wiggle your toes? SH_

_Yes. -JW_

_Can you lift your arms -- separately and together? SH_

_Yeah. I have arms as well. -JW_

_Is your head definitely attached to your body? SH_

_Definitely. -JW_

_And between your legs? Everything in working order? SH_

_Very definitely. -JW_

_Be sure. Check now. SH_

_How do you suggest I do that? The best method? -JW_

_Don't pretend you don't know precisely what to do. You practice enough. Do whatever you normally do. SH_

John reached down and touched himself lightly. He bit his lip and imagined it was Sherlock's hand.

 _It's working fine. -JW_

Sherlock closed his eyes and imagined John. He'd imagined him on occasion -- sometimes John took extra long showers and Sherlock would picture him touching himself as the water poured over him, but he'd deleted the image from his head as soon as John had come out of the bathroom. But now it was different -- John was doing it and they both knew that Sherlock knew. Why had he started this game and why was John playing along?  
  
 _Keep going. SH_

_Help me, then. -JW_

John gripped properly but continued very slowly, waiting for more from Sherlock. He refused to think too much on what was happening. He just wanted to enjoy it before he went home and things were like before again.

Sherlock let his own hand slip into his pajamas and wrap around his hardening cock.

_Firm and slow first. SH_

John moaned softly.

_I am. Already, I mean. -JW_

Sherlock took a deep breath.

 _I am as well. SH_

John closed his eyes and imagined Sherlock in his bed -- or better yet in this bed -- next to John, touching himself the way John was. He imagined kneeling beside him and watching his fingers moving over himself. "Fuck," he exhaled, opening his eyes and gripping harder.

_What do you like next? -JW_

John flushed and quickly sent another.

_Sorry -- I meant suggest. -JW_

_Faster now. Firmer. SH_

Sherlock followed his own advice.

John did what Sherlock suggested, shifting on the bed a bit. He closed his eyes and imagined Sherlock. He wondered if Sherlock really was. He could be lying as easily as John had thought about lying. He shook the thought away and kept going.

Sherlock kept stroking himself, imagining it was John. That's the thing about crushes -- the imagination didn't have to match reality, it was nice just thinking about it even if it would never be true. His muscles started to tighten and then he was coming. He lay back and caught his breath and then reached for a tissue before cleaning himself up. He picked up his phone. 

_Well? Has everything gone to plan? SH_

John heard the phone buzz but he was too close to stop now. But what if it was something sexy? He reached for the phone and panted harshly when he read it -- Sherlock had finished and now he was imagining Sherlock finishing and it pushed him over. He caught his breath before replying.

_Yes. All in working order. -JW_

_Good. Then it sounds like your body is in fact whole. Well done. SH_

Sherlock couldn't tell if he should regret what had just happened. He didn't at the moment, but John was away. What would it be like when John returned? 

_Thank you. -JW_

John wondered himself if he meant it for the game or for the orgasm. He'd let Sherlock take it how he wanted to. He got up and cleaned himself off, put his pants back on and climbed into bed again. Tomorrow night they would face each other and he hoped it would be okay. 

_I should go to sleep now. I have an early day. See you soon. -JW_

_Good night, John. xx SH_


	11. November

Neither of them spoke of what had happened the night before the day that John came back from the funeral. That didn't mean, of course, that Sherlock hadn't thought about it; he had. Sometimes after he'd hear John leave for work, he'd lie in bed and think of it and touch himself again. However, he began to worry that maybe he was thinking of it too much. It was one thing to realise he had a crush on John and even to (what he probably wouldn't admit was) flirting with John. But it was another thing entirely to spend multiple mornings a week masturbating to the thought of him. So Sherlock had decided to step back a bit -- not try to actively make his feelings go away and not change his behaviour so drastically that John noticed -- but just step back from spending so much time focused on it.

One Friday morning he was lying in bed, trying not to think about John, when he heard a knock at the door. He slipped on his dressing gown and went to answer it. 

"It's Molly's party tonight," Mrs Hudson said, coming in and, recognising he'd just got up, moving straight to the kitchen to put the kettle on. "It was kind of her to invite me, don't you think?"  
  
Sherlock flopped on the sofa. "She probably just felt bad for you, because you're a lonely old woman," he said.

Mrs Hudson turned around sharply. "That was a really mean thing to say, Sherlock Holmes," she said.

He looked over and saw that she was wearing her serious face. He sat up. "I'm sorry," he said. "I was just teasing you."  
  
"Well," she said, turning back to the kettle. "Teasing is confusing sometimes."  
  
"No, it isn't," he said. "Not with me. You know I'd never be mean to you. So if I say something mean, I must be teasing." 

Mrs Hudson poured his tea and brought him his mug. "It's not that simple, Sherlock. It's not always easy to tell when you're teasing and sometimes, love, you do say mean things, even if you do so unintentionally."  
  
"I'm sorry," he said genuinely.

She smiled at him. "Can I share a taxi with you and John tonight?" she asked.

"Of course," he said.

"All right then," she said. "I'd better go and be productive before I need to start getting ready."

He turned and watched her. He said, "I'm sorry, Mrs Hudson" again as she walked out.

"I know," she said and went downstairs.

Sherlock felt funny about what had just happened. He found his phone and texted John.

_It's Molly's party tonight. Do we have to go? SH_

_We've already promised. Well, I promised for the both of us. -JW_

Things hadn't been the same since John had come home. John didn't know if Sherlock realised it or not, but John felt it for sure. It wasn't bad or drastic but it was different -- like something was sitting just out of reach that both of them were ignoring. But it was clear there was no way they were going to talk about it. So they both seemed to just go on as if nothing had changed. 

_Fine but I don't have any intention of being party-like. SH_

Sherlock took a shower so that he was ready before John got back home. He put on his purple shirt because John once told him he'd liked it. Then he changed out of it because he was supposed to stop focusing on his crush. But then he put it back on because he wanted John to smile at him when he walked in the door. He was all ready with a cup of tea when John got home from work.

When John finally got home he did a double take when he saw Sherlock then smiled and took his mug. "See? You're being party-like already. You look very nice. Let me go an change," he said, heading up to his room. He took longer than usual, changing twice before settling on his outfit.

Sherlock liked that John had smiled at him. When John came back down from his room, he said, "You look handsome" and then he swallowed awkwardly. "Shall we go then?" he said, getting his coat. 

They picked up Mrs Hudson and grabbed a cab to Molly's. It was crowded and a bit too loud. John stuck close to Sherlock as they mingled and drank. Molly even dragged a dance out of Sherlock which John took pictures of just because he knew he could tease Sherlock with them later.

Sherlock hated the party and as a result, he probably drank more than he should have. But it was something to do -- when a stranger spoke to him, he just put the glass up to his lips and mumbled something until the person moved to speak to someone else. Mrs Hudson seemed to be enjoying herself. Sherlock still felt guilty about what had happened earlier so he danced one song with her. He kept John in his eye line the whole night though and when he'd finally had enough, he gave him a look that said, "Please, can we go home now?"

John made his way over to Sherlock and stood a bit too close. "We can go," he said, taking his hand to start his way through the room. "I told Molly already when I saw your look and she's going to take care of Mrs Hudson," he said.

Sherlock followed and realised he was unsteady on his feet. "John, I'm drunk . . . you have to be responsible," Sherlock said, holding onto him as they walked. 

"I am drunk too," John said, saying each word carefully. "Why weren't you responsible?" 

"Because you are," Sherlock said, even though the answer didn't really make sense.

"You are," John repeated. He managed to hail a cab and they fell into it. "Give him the . . .where we live."

"Take us to our flat," Sherlock said, handing the driver some notes and his business card. He leaned on John. "Why are you sitting so close to me?" he asked John.

"Shh," John said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. He leaned on Sherlock's shoulder and sighed.

"Don't start with that," Sherlock said, reaching over and holding John's hand.

"M'not," John said, even though he knew he had.

Sherlock kept John's hand in his own until the taxi pulled up outside the flat. Then he shifted them both out of the car and up to the door. "Shhh," he said to John for no reason. It took a few minutes but he got the door unlocked and they walked upstairs, holding hands again.

"One more, okay?" John said, leaning close to Sherlock. "But don't . . .don't tell because he doesn't know."

"Don't tell who?" Sherlock said. "Who can't I tell? What doesn't he know?"

John looked at him and squinted his eyes. Then he started to giggle. "You!"

"I know everything," Sherlock said. "One more what?"

John grabbed his cheeks and kissed his mouth, holding it for a few seconds before moving back.

"Why are you trying to make me love you?" Sherlock asked.

"Because I love you," John said as if it was so obvious.

"But I've not tried to make you," Sherlock said. He was sitting on the sofa now, trying to make the room stay still.

"I know. But these things happen," John said with a heavy sigh. "I should go up." He stood and wobbled for a moment before catching himself and heading slowly for the stairs.

"I don't know what to do, John," Sherlock said.

John paused with one foot on the step. "About what?"

"To make you feel what I feel," Sherlock said.

"What do you feel?"

"I feel . . . sick," Sherlock said. "I think I'm going to be sick, John."  
  
John tilted his head. "Go to the bathroom!" he said dramatically.

Sherlock pushed himself up and rushed to the toilet where he was sick. He wiped his mouth and then leaned against the wall and tried to remember what he'd said to John. But he couldn't and this made him feel even worse.

The sound sobered John a bit and he stumbled his way to getting Sherlock a glass of water. He chugged down his own before leaving the kitchen, joining him in the bathroom. "Aspirin," he said matter-of-factly. He found a couple and handed them to Sherlock.

"I shouldn't have eaten those snack-type foods," Sherlock said, turning his head away from John. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise," John said, sitting on the side of the tub. He pet Sherlock's hair lightly. "Shh."

"Forget what I said," Sherlock said. "I don't know what I was talking about. I'm sorry for . . . confusing everything."

"Me too," John said, even though now that he thought about it he couldn't really remember what either one of them had said.

Sherlock reached up and grabbed John's hand for help in standing up. "I think I should go to bed," he mumbled. He wobbled as he made his way to his room. "Could you bring a bin in, just in case?" He fell onto his bed without even turning on his lamp or pulling down the duvet.

John brought the small bin from the kitchen into Sherlock's room. "Night," he murmured, slowly heading up to his own bed.

Sherlock rolled over on his side and tried to breathe deeply until the nausea passed. He pulled out his phone and sent John a text.

_I'm sorry. SH_

_Don't worry. -JW_

John rolled over, feeling pretty sure that it had been a good night.


	12. December

Cases had kept them busy since Molly's party, for which Sherlock was grateful. He now realised his crush on John was too big to control; it wasn't even a crush anymore -- he was in love with John Watson. He had literally no idea what to do with this revelation so he just concentrated on their work.

Luckily, criminals aren't really sentimental types and they worked right through Christmas. He and John had dinner with Mrs Hudson on Boxing Day and gave her the necklace they'd bought together. Afterwards they were back in the flat with John typing up the most recent case for the blog while Sherlock lay on the sofa, answering whatever questions John had.

John had never been so grateful for the flu season in his life. He was working long hours at the office followed by long hours working cases with Sherlock. When they weren't running all over London, he was trying to catch up on sleep.

The problem was that slowly he remembered what he had said to Sherlock the night they had been drunk and he was so embarrassed he could hardly stand it, because he had no memory of how Sherlock had responded. Luckily it seemed now that Sherlock had either forgotten or chosen not to mention it which, despite hurting a bit, worked for him just fine.

"Have you got a date for New Year's Eve?" Sherlock asked.

"No. Mike invited me out but I'm not really feeling up to it," John said.

"Should we just stay here together?" Sherlock asked, worried that it sounded too . . . well, he wasn't sure what really. He needed to remember that John had no idea about his feelings; he needed to stop being so paranoid. "We could get Chinese and just . . . do nothing. No email, no phones, just nothing." He turned on his side and looked over at John. "What do you think?"

"Yeah," John nodded. "That sounds good."

"Sure," Sherlock said. He sat up. "I think I'll go to bed." He put his mug in the sink and headed to his room. "Good night, John," he said.

"Night, Sherlock," John said.

Things were calming down and by New Year's Eve, Sherlock had filed all his notes and John had finished the blog posts. It was quite nice to have nothing to do. Sherlock had stayed in bed quite late, and by the time he got up, it was afternoon. He put his dressing gown on and made his way out to the sitting room.

"I thought you were going to sleep through the New Year," John smiled, motioning to his tea.

"For once, I like having nothing to do and no one to deal with," Sherlock said. "Except you, but you're . . . different." He took a sip of tea. 'You know what I mean."

"I know," John smiled. "I can't believe it's the New Year already."  
  
"It's not," Sherlock said, glancing over at the clock. "We've still got nine hours left. Don't wish it away." He finished his tea and said, "I don't think I'm going to get dressed today but I think I'll have a bath." He got up and made his way to the bathroom.

John got on the computer and wrote a quick entry on the blog about how nice it is to finally have a break from the cases. He wished everyone a happy new year. He closed the computer and thought about the year he'd had with Sherlock.

They had got closer than ever and yet things were still a bit off. They had been kissing a lot and despite his earlier worries, they had managed to keep it casual. Until John had admitted he loved Sherlock but that seemed lost in the drunk haze of last month. He didn't know how he felt about that, but it was what it was. 

Sherlock sunk into the hot water and thought about whether or not he should tell John what he was feeling. He didn't think John would be angry, but he did think he'd be surprised and he worried that it would be too much for John to handle. To be fair, Sherlock wasn't entirely sure it wasn't too much for he himself to handle. But it was what it was, and even though he'd spent his whole life pushing feelings away, John wasn't like that and maybe it'd be better to tell him, get it out in the open. Maybe they'd both laugh about it -- the first time in a decade Sherlock had any feelings towards another person and it was his straight flatmate. Maybe that would happen. But maybe it wouldn't and John would stammer out his discomfort, hidden in between reassurances that nothing would change. But then it would and it would be horrible.

Things weren't horrible now. They were all right. Sherlock liked that on occasion he could kind of flirt with John and it didn't seem to bother them. And they had kissed and John hadn't got all uptight about it. Maybe Sherlock should be grateful for those things. He was grateful. But he also knew his feelings were bigger than just those things. He closed his eyes and thought more about what to do.

John got up and went to change into comfortable pajamas. If they were going to be staying in tonight, he might as well. He looked in their fridge for something he could make for dinner but there was nothing substantial so they'd get Chinese as Sherlock had suggested. He went back to the sofa and turned on the telly waiting for Sherlock to come back out.

He imagined their year and their kisses and wondered how likely it would be to get one at midnight. No matter how small or how far each kiss had gone they hadn’t let it affect their friendship yet. One more to finish the year shouldn’t hurt anything. He hoped.

Eventually the water cooled and Sherlock got out. He put on some clean pajamas and joined John in the sitting room. "Have you picked a terrible film for us to watch?" he asked, flopping on the sofa.

"Just the news for now," he said.

"When do you want to order dinner?" Sherlock asked. "I presume we're having it delivered since you've changed into your pajamas," he added, smiling over at John. 

John smiled. "Yes, I thought I'd get comfortable as well. I can order now if you're hungry."

"Are you comfortable?" Sherlock asked suddenly. "I mean here, with me. Does this feel like home to you?"

"Oh yes," John said, looking over at him. "Of course. Why?"

"I don't know," Sherlock said. "That time of year, I guess . . . you know, time to reflect on things. I'm so glad you live here, but if, you know, anything were to change, you'll tell me, yeah?"  
  
"Change how?" John asked, starting to feel nervous now. Was Sherlock starting to remember what John had said after Molly's party? "I mean, I like living here. . . with you."

"Good," Sherlock said. "Should we order now and then you can pick something for us to watch?"

"Okay," John said, trying to relax a bit. "Feel free to pick something if you want," he added as he got up for the phone to order.

Sherlock started flipping through the channels but he didn't really know what he was looking for. When John returned to the sofa, he tossed the remote to him. "You choose," he said. "Seriously, I don't know what you want to watch and you know me, I won't be satisfied with anything."  
  
"All right, all right," John said, taking the remote and looking for something good. He paused on a Bond movie and left it, glancing at Sherlock.

"Fine," Sherlock said. He pulled his legs up and then realised he was chilly. "I need a blanket. Do you want one?" he asked, standing up.

"Yes please," John said, watching him get up.

Sherlock came back with two blankets, throwing one over John. He scooted down a bit and stretched his legs out a little, covering himself up.

"Feel better?" John asked. The second he was covered up there was a knock at the door. He smiled sweetly at Sherlock. "Please?"

"Oh god, you planned that," Sherlock said. He got up and went to the door. He gave the guy a good tip since he was working New Year's Eve and probably dealing with a lot of drunk people. He brought the food in. "You didn't even get the plates? You're so lazy, John Watson," he said. He went in and got the plates and silverware. "Oh yeah, I forgot," he said. He grabbed a small bottle from the cupboard. "I got us some champagne but just a small bottle so I . . . you know . . . don't end up over the toilet again. I'll open it after we eat." He got settled in and John started the movie as they ate.

"Okay," John said, settling comfortably and eating quietly. A little while later, he glanced over at Sherlock and said, "Are you comfortable? Living here with me?"

"Yes," Sherlock said. "I very much like living with you."

"Good," John said with a small nod. "And if anything changes you'll tell me as well, right?"

Sherlock thought about that question. Something had changed and Sherlock hadn't told him. Yet. But he would. "Yeah, I'll tell you," he answered. When they'd finish eating, Sherlock got up and took their plates into the kitchen. He brought back two glasses for the champagne, set them on the table and turned his attention back to the film.

"We'll just take this slow, okay?" John said, motioning to the bottle.

Sherlock smiled. "Are we waiting until midnight?"

"Yeah -- we should pop the cork at the strike of midnight," John smiled.

"Okay," Sherlock said. "What now? We've got about a half hour left."

"We watch the end of the movie, I suppose," John said. "But keep an eye on the clock so we don't miss it."

Sherlock scooted down and lay flat on the sofa. He pressed his feet against John's legs. "This film is boring," he said quietly.

"You think everything is boring," John said quietly back. He rest his hand on Sherlock's ankles.

"I'm a special person, I need special things to entertain me," Sherlock said. 

John rolled his eyes lightly. "Please enlighten me," he said. 

"Well, for instance, you," Sherlock said. "I don't like people, do I? But I like you. Why? Because you're special."

John flushed lightly and kept his eyes on the telly. "You're just saying that because I'm sitting right here," he said. 

"No, I'm not," Sherlock said. "I say it in my head every single day."

"You have to remind yourself to keep liking me?" John teased, smiling softly. 

"No, John," Sherlock said. "I don't have to . . . I like to."

John's smile faltered a bit and he glanced over. "Oh," he said lamely. "Well, that's nice."

"Well, sometimes," Sherlock said. "Sometimes it's maddening." He turned a bit on his side and looked at the television.

"Well, couldn't you just stop, on those times?" John asked. 

"No . . . it seems I can't," Sherlock said quietly.

John swallowed hard and was about to say something when he noticed the time. "Come on -- we only have two more minutes," he said. 

Sherlock sat up quickly and opened the champagne, pouring a bit into each of the glasses. He handed one to John who had turned the channel to some show where they were doing a countdown.

"You popped the cork too early," John smiled. He sat up a bit more and scooted closer. "We'll just have to cheer or something now..." _Or kiss._

"No, you drink at midnight and then get your New Year's kiss," Sherlock said, his face flushing a bit. "I mean, I'll give you one if you want one."

"I do," John said, looking at the telly. Thirty seconds. "I think that would be . . .nice and traditional." 

"I want to, John," Sherlock said, lifting the glass to his mouth but then realising what he was doing and pulling it back down again. He looked at the television. 

"Me too," John said. The final ten seconds. His stomach was rolling nervously. Five more seconds. He looked at Sherlock. 

Sherlock looked at John. He set his glass on the table and moved closer. He took John's glass and set it on the table as well.

John heard the cheering on the telly. It must have happened. He leaned forward and kissed Sherlock's mouth lightly, using everything in him to pull back. "Happy New Year," he mumbled. 

Sherlock lifted his hands to John's head, pulling him closer. He kissed his mouth again, urgently, almost sloppily. He didn't care. "Tell me to stop and I will," he said into the kiss. "But I don't want to." He nipped at John's bottom lip before kissing him again.

John was pressing impossibly closer, trying to shake his head and keep kissing Sherlock at the same time. "Don't stop," he moaned softly, lacing fingers into his hair to keep him close. He returned the kiss eagerly, his tongue pushing into Sherlock's mouth for more. 

Sherlock leaned onto John, pushing him back against the arm of the sofa. "It's not just this I want," he said. "I-I'm in love with you. It's not just . . . I am, John, and I can't make it go away and I don't want you to leave but I am." He was rambling in between kisses and scrambling to touch John's body, sliding his hand under his t-shirt and grasping at his back.

John arched into his hands and dragged his own down Sherlock's back, trying to get into his shirt, to get to skin. "I love you too . . . for a while now," he stammered, kissing down Sherlock's neck now. He nipped at Sherlock's skin, kissing and licking the spot as a bruise was already forming. 

"John," Sherlock said. "I . . ." Sherlock tried to speak but he didn't know what to say. Instead he lifted John's shirt over his head and then took off his own. Then he moved his mouth to John's neck and sucked in the skin, tasting it.

John let his head fall back as he sighed and gripped Sherlock's hair. "Let's go to bed -- a bed --anywhere," he said. He slid his other hand down the length of Sherlock's body, gripping his hip and pulling him down against him as he brought his own hips up. They weren't close enough -- John needed more. John needed to see and feel and touch more of Sherlock.  

Sherlock pulled John into his bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed and crawling over top of him. His hands moved all over John's body and his mouth moved from John's mouth to his neck and back to his mouth. It was all too good. It was just what he'd wanted for so long -- even before he'd known it was what he wanted, this is what Sherlock needed from John.

John was pushing his body up into Sherlock's and almost kissing him too hard. His hands were pushing at pajama pants, trying to get the both of them free.

Once they were both nude, Sherlock slid his hand down John's body to hold John's cock. The skin was warm and soft and Sherlock worried for a second that he might come just from the knowledge that he was touching John, that this was happening. He began stroking John, slow and firm, while still kissing his mouth.

"Fuck," John moaned into the kiss, letting his head fall back for a moment. "I imagined -- this is what I saw that night when I was away . . . didn't do it justice," he smiled, holding Sherlock's curls again as he kissed him. 

Sherlock stopped his movements for a moment and looked up at John. "I've seen this a thousand times in my head," he said softly. "I don't know when it happened, John, but it did and I want this to be us now." He leaned over to the nightstand and pulled out a small bottle of lube and a condom. He shifted himself and poured some lube into his hand, going back to stroke John. His hand moved more smoothly now, and he started putting kisses over John's neck and chest.

"All that time we were ignoring what was happening," John sighed, petting his hair now as the heat was building and building in his body. He closed his eyes and focused on the feeling of Sherlock's hand on him. "What can I do for you?" 

"Just keep touching me and letting me touch you," Sherlock said, rolling his hips against John. He let his fingers drift to John's balls and then stroked lightly between his legs so that everywhere was slick and warm.

John moved his hands to Sherlock's back and shoulders and touched every inch he could reach. He moaned softly and squirmed under Sherlock's hands.

Sherlock let his fingertip press softly against John's hole. He wanted John in this way as well. He slowly pushed his finger in. "Fuck, John," Sherlock said, the feeling of being inside John making him totally melt. "I want you so much."  
  
A small sound escaped John's throat as Sherlock's finger pushed into his body. "Fuck Sherlock, please," he moaned. 

Sherlock started moving his finger in rhythm with his hips. "You feel so good, John . . . you made me want this again," he moaned softly as he rubbed his mouth and face over John's chest.

"You feel . . . it feels so good," John rambled breathlessly, still moaning softly and moving with him.

Sherlock slipped a second finger in. He could feel John's body, while still tight around him, relaxing a bit. "Let me, John," he moaned, rubbing himself against John's leg. "Let me inside, please," he moaned again.

"Yes, God yes," John moaned, pushing against his hand, breathing deeply between moans to help him relax.

Sherlock slid his hand from between John's legs and reached over for a condom. He quickly rolled it on and slicked himself again and then lined up. He looked up at John and then slowly pushed inside of him. "Fuck," he almost growled. "Fuck, John, it's . . ."

John moaned loudly and blinked his eyes open to look at him, curling his fingers behind his neck, lacing into the curls there. "Please don't . . .don't stop," he breathed.

Sherlock started to roll his hips, pushing further into John before pulling back a bit. It wasn't rough or hard, it was . . . beautiful. He moved his body slightly so he could wrap an arm around John and with his other hand, he reached down and started stroking his cock. He leaned in and kissed him then pressed his face against John's cheek. He could hear both of the breaths panting, their hearts pounding.

"Sherlock," John moaned into his ear between his panting. He couldn't believe how good it all felt. "M'close. . ."

"Do it, John," Sherlock said. "Show me . . ." He moved a little more, closing his eyes and concentrating on both their bodies.

John closed his eyes and buried his nose into Sherlock's hair, breathing him in as he let go. He groaned before calling out for him, coming on both of their stomachs and squeezing around Sherlock to keep him close.

Sherlock came, thrusting harder into John as he felt him tighten around him. He let go of John's cock and slid his wet hand around John's back, pulling him as close as possible. He said John's name over and over.

John looped an arm around Sherlock and clung tightly to him, staying as close as possible as the final waves of their orgasms passed and they panted for air. He didn't know how he ever survived without this.  
  
Sherlock pulled out slowly, taking off the condom and flopping down next to John. He squeezed into him. "I do love you, John," Sherlock said. "It took me a while to figure it out, but please believe me."

"I do, love. I do," he murmured, turning to curl into Sherlock.

Sherlock lifted his head and looked at John's face. "Let me kiss you," he said and leaned in, kissing John's mouth softly. This was everything now. This was them now. This was John and Sherlock.


End file.
